The Afterwards
by gnails
Summary: Luke and Noah seven years later. "Maybe, we weren't meant for each other after all." AU-ish.


_beware: nothing really exciting happens. don't own, don't have money, don't sue. unbeta'd.

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When Luke is twenty and about a month old, Noah decides to 'take a break' for the umpteenth time.

Luke is almost used to the solitude because, one, they've been on breaks about a million times, and two, he always knew it was temporary. He takes comfort in that it didn't count as an actual, full-blown break-up. In fact, there used to be a betting pool of how long they'd last without each other. Per usual, Luke persists, annoys the hell out of Noah, Noah avoids, and Luke patiently waits because he's confident it's not the end.

He's pretty damn sure it'd never be the end.

But then Lily and Holden decide to get divorced (yet again), Lucinda's cancer relapses, Jade gets sent off to a penitentiary in Springfield without a single notice, and Luke, some how, some way, fails out of community college. His work with the foundation barely keeps him hanging on. Faith and Natalie are at that age where they interact with their i-pods more than their older brother.

There is only so much drama even the indestructible Luke Snyder—even on his own--can tolerate.

The best thing is though? Noah never shows his face anywhere Luke is.

So, Luke being Luke, sets out and finds Noah. Their exchanges are friendly enough, and Luke can get his mind off of things when they hang out at Java. Luke finds solace and reassurance that Noah, despite the current state of their relationship, is a constant, unchanging presence in his life.

However.

Sometimes, it would end up in shouting matches, and after a couple more times, Luke wakes up each day, frustrated by Noah's indefinite sabbatical from their relationship. Then the troubles around him compound and multiply exponentially, and Luke's daily intake of Noah declines to every few days, to weekly, to perhaps a couple times a month.

Luke may be many things, but patient is most _definitely _not one of them. When it becomes a little obvious that Noah isn't intending to end the break, Luke is irritated beyond belief.

Then, everything in his life spirals in a beautiful downward motion.

He'll admit it. He's prone to doing stupid things when circumstances are bad.

After a particularly nasty confrontation with his mother, Luke stalks off to Old Towne, praying to god he finds Noah.

He does. He finds Noah at Al's, having a fine time with the redhead from his film 108 class, his fellow film study buddy. What was his name again? Roger, Junior, Archie, something disgusting? Luke doesn't know, and he doesn't care. What he does care about is the amicable ease Noah talks to Little Orphan Annie, and how he openly laughs like the attractive buffoon he is and pats obnoxious Annie on the back, his hand lingering a split of a second too long.

Luke turns around and walks out the door he went through just a minute before. He's surprisingly unperturbed at the moment. He promptly deletes Noah's number from his cell phone. It sucks that he knows the number by heart, but in the following week, the number never shows up on his cell phone screen. Luke throws away his phone in the trash, telling Holden that he doesn't know, maybe he lost it when he took a walk around the pond.

Instead of thinking much about it, Luke discovers a lovely bottle of tequila, stashed away like a skeleton in a closet at the back of Lucinda's pantry. It becomes his new best friend.

For the next month, Luke indulges himself in parties, outings, and the occasional make out session. He tends to go for the tall, dark-haired ones, and in the mornings, he doesn't tell the reason why his hand is glued to an ibuprofen bottle. Emma eyes him carefully, but says nothing.

Casey notices, but his head is so wrapped up around Alison and Jade and Maddie's marriage in New Jersey, there isn't much he can do. He does try to find all of Luke's hidden stash of alcohol and pour it down the drain, but he misses the cheap whiskey Luke keeps in his bookcase. After that stunt, things are tense between Luke and Casey.

Like a chain reaction, one by one, Luke's close friends begin to dwindle to a number he can count on one hand.

Then one night, after a harrowing day involving an explosive argument with Holden and his impending divorce, Luke gets a little more drunk than usual at a friend of a friend of another friend's frat party. He finds a piece of eye-candy, Mitch from his English class freshman year, tall, dark, and handsome with a pair of pretty baby blues.

Luke whispers drunken flirtations into Mitch's ear, pretending, even just for a moment amidst the darkness of the party, he was Noah.

The inebriation makes Luke a total fool. He starts sloppily kissing Mitch, his back against the wall, pulling the man closer by the lapels of his jacket. He smoothes his fingers across Mitch's chest while Mitch presses closer, his hands wandering anywhere.

Luke likes the feel of another person against his mouth, and he thinks it's been far, far too long.

"Luke?"

It takes Luke a minute to detach himself from the brunette, only to see another one five feet away. It was the same brunette who was the origin of all his heartbreak, misery, and woe, and the same one he swore his undying love to.

Noah's jaw is as tense as a vice, and his knuckles are deathly white. His face is contorted because he's _furious_, and he looks ready to pummel anything in his way.

Luke's alcohol-induced mind registers his identity a little after the fact. He's totally wasted. But never mind, the night's still young, and Luke feels like there's nothing that could ruin his happy, loopy mood today.

He grins a lop-sided smile and slurs, "Hi Noah."

Then Luke does something especially, moronically, just simply _really_ stupid.

He turns back to the man wrapped around him and begins kiss him, tongue and all.

Before Luke knows it, he's violently jerked back and thrown to the ground. His shoulder hits against the bar, and the whole room is spinning before him. He doesn't get enough time to re-orientate himself when he's brutally picked up by the scruff of his collar and dragged up, face to face with one pissed off Noah Mayer.

When Luke sees the rage, the fury, the utter and desolate pain in Noah's eyes, the gravity of the situation rushes to Luke like a ton of water was dumped on him, and he sobers up almost instantly.

"Noah, oh god, I'm--"

Luke doesn't get to finish his sentence since Noah finds it an opportune time to punch him.

Bam. The pain hits him hard. Luke staggers back and leans against the bar for support. He nurses a cut on his lip and a sore nose.

"You _fucking little--" _Noah snarls as he's held back by Casey.

"Cool it man!"

" --I can't believe _you!" _he screams at Luke, "_I can't believe you!"_

Casey struggles to haul Noah out of the door as Alison helps Luke up. She quietly dabs Luke's bleeding lip.

Luke watches Noah storm out, leaving a wake of embittered anger and a gossiping audience behind him. Tears bite at the edges of Luke's eyes, and he's ready to keel over. His heart twists until it's threatening to tear itself into two.

Alison wraps her arm around his torso and supports him as he slowly walks to the back door. "C'mon, let's get out of here," she softly says.

Luke complies. It's the only smart thing he's done the whole night.

The next day comes in a daze. In the morning, he discovers all of the alcohol in the farm is missing.

Emma gives him breakfast, uncharacteristically serious, after he slinks downstairs, rapidly blinking from the daylight. She sits down next to him and gently rubs his arm.

"You're lucky you're still in one piece."

"I know Grandma."

"If you are, then you should talk to Noah."

Luke sighs and puts down his fork. He rubs his eyes and the oncoming migraine. "I really messed it up this time, didn't I?"

Emma brushes the hair on the back of his head and sadly watches him. "I'm afraid you did. Go talk to him."

Luke takes his grandmother's advice and sets off to Noah's dorm once he's done.

At the Oakdale U dorms, Luke shifts uncomfortably, squeamish while he waits for Noah to respond to his knocks. Noah opens the door after the seventh knock, and his expression betrays his irritation. There are bags under his eyes, and Noah emanates exhaustion.

Noah's hand grips the side of the door and opens it just enough so Luke could see that he is obviously not invited.

They stand there for a moment, Luke unable to think of something to say, and Noah stubbornly deciding not to say anything.

Luke decides to take the first step. "Can I come in?"

"No." Noah folds his arms over his chest, his muscles taut and tense. "What do you want?"

"Please let me in. I need to talk to you."

Noah reluctantly pushes the door further open and recedes into his room, scratching his head. Luke follows him in and notices the disarray of Noah's things. Luke knows Noah's an army brat, and being an army brat, can be so organized, it's scary. But the place is _mess_. Luke nearly trips over a pile of dirty laundry, and he passes a section of the wall with a hole the size of Noah's fist.

He sidesteps a stack of DVDs and film textbooks. Noah seats himself on an office chair by his desk. He swivels back to his computer and begins to type, the back of his head facing Luke.

Luke stands helplessly behind Noah. He tries too many times to say something, but it comes out sounding pathetic.

"Noah, I...I—yesterday...it was—I was--"

"What do you want Luke?" Noah asks, still typing on his computer.

Luke has a litany of answers to that question. He says he's sorry, so sorry, _I don't know what I was thinking_, over and over again until his voice is rasping, and his throat stings. Noah turns to face him and crosses his arms again.

Noah shows nothing but a blank expression and tells Luke in an incredibly calm tone reminiscent of a patient school teacher, "I never want to see you again."

The exchange is so bizarre and surreal that Luke doesn't know what to do with himself. There is no door slamming and no anger, so different from the night before. Noah politely shows him to the door and firmly shuts it in Luke's face.

It hits Luke a few minutes afterward, when he's still outside Noah's dorm, facing a door adorned with Noah's name posted on it and a picture of Hedy Lamarr.

And when it does, he plunges forward, sprinting out of the building, and running, running, until he's not quite sure where he is, and his lungs are burning. He stops to catch his breath, sucking in gulps of air as tears slowly well up in the corners of his eyes. His stomach lurches like it's been kneed in the gut.

Luke's heart gets stuck in his throat, and he gags on it. He dry heaves into a trash can as his esophagus burns like the devil.

That was it. It was over. His dreams, goals, whatever optimism for a future with Noah permanently soars out of his life and into the land of abysmal impossibility.

_It was over._

So, when Luke is twenty and some more months old, he's completely sober for the first time in three days, and absolutely, utterly clear-headed. Consequently, he figures it out. It dawns upon him in such a stupidly, obvious manner, Luke wants to smack his head against a wall. He re-evaluates his life, and this is what he finds out:

His life is like a fucking soap opera.

And you know what? Surprise, surprise, Luke's had enough of it.

He goes home. He cleans himself up. He starts writing again. He applies to different colleges and universities of varying prestige, and just for the hell of it, Columbia.

In the next month, his life pivots from 'spectacularly messed-up' to 'productive and okay'.

Luke, slowly but surely, gets his life back together.

Then Columbia, in some crazy miraculous way, loves him--or at least that essay he gave them or maybe his money--enough to accept him, past discrepancies aside. Luke jumps on the chance. He leaves Oakdale that week. Just ups and goes. Luke cleans up his room, packs his things, leaves the foundation to his mother, and when he's done, he's done.

Ironically, the minute he steps beyond Oakdale's boundaries, everything is okay again.

Luke doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the sheer irony life flings at him.

Lily and Holden, very much together again, don't protest much; mostly due to the fact they didn't have enough time to when he made the decision. His sisters squeal at the thought of glamorous New York and the idea that Luke was going to be part of it. A cancer-free Lucinda gives her blessing in the form of a one-hundred thousand dollar check, a prayer that Luke doesn't go crazy in New York and a kiss on the cheek. Emma promises him baked goods every week. Luke gratefully receives them every week on the dot.

Everybody bids their farewell to him, in some degree between embarrassingly loud and public sobbing and a plain good-bye.

Of course, Luke never hears from Noah about it. They never talked after what Luke dubs 'the-most-idiotic-thing-Luke-has-ever-done incident' (the Brian incident being a close second) and the subsequent break-up.

Luke once considered calling him, but that was a long time ago. He always figured that Noah probably found out from the grapevine.

Thus, Luke quickly finds himself a cozy loft in Brooklyn, much thanks to the perks of a relatively rich and well-connected grandmother. He positively adores the place and its huge, factory-designed, elongated windows and concrete floors.

It's there, in his own place, on his own for the very first time, that Luke begins finding himself all over again.

He falls in love with the quaint coffee shops, the bustling subway, and the city life. He blends in with the crowds of people, quarrels with the academia at school--to much improvement of his writing--and defines himself by New York. He's no longer the gay poster boy of Oakdale, population tiny, rallying to prove his worth to simply breathe, but rather, he marvels at the gay culture he discovers in a city so fast-paced, he's always left dizzy.

He makes friends, non-melodramatic types of friends from various backgrounds, but with such amazing personalities, it inspires him, and it keeps him connected. He keeps in touch with Oakdale, doesn't miss it much, but feels homesick once in a blue moon.

And after seven years, three-thousand, five-hundred and sixty-two cups of coffees, one hundred and twelve all nighters, eighty-three papers, fifty-two short stories, eleven jobs, seven unsent love letters, two sent Dear John letters, one bachelor's degree in English from Columbia University, and half of a forgotten masters degree in journalism, Luke's gotten past Noah.

Really, he's gotten past Noah. Just ignore the fact that he's never been in a relationship _since _Noah.

And besides Noah, he hasn't been laid. Ever.

He means, he's been on _dates_ before—he's not a eunuch living in a cave, you know, and he has met several nice guys. But nothing ever seems to stick.

Anyway, enough of Noah and the non-existence of his love-life. Luke stops thinking about such troublesome things as he exits a cafe in the heart of the city and pushes his way through a busy sidewalk with a coffee in one hand and a fresh scone in the other.

He maneuvers around with the delicacy of an acrobat, balancing his cup. But hey, it is New York, and when somebody pushes, he shoves.

Although, two blocks later, Luke is close to killing someone again. This time with a shovel. Or perhaps he could blind them with scalding hot coffee.

A person quickly walks past him and bumps into his shoulder. The person, a pretty hipster girl, mutters her apologies and continues her way.

Luke hisses at the spilled coffee on his hand and wristwatch. He shakes his hand to get rid of the coffee and worriedly rubs the watch with his sleeve. And yes, he tells people, it's a nice wristwatch, and it's the same watch he's worn through college, the one he's kept in good condition, the one Noah gave him one fateful, wonderful Christmas eve before everything hit the fan, and no, he will not get another one despite it breaking five times.

He doesn't tell people about the Noah bit.

He doesn't tell people about Noah _at all_. He always thought it'd be a boring subject to bring up, but in all actuality, he'd rather not pick at old wounds. Dredging up old feelings is something Luke is very against.

Luke makes a beeline into Prospect Park. He spies an empty bench and makes his way to it. He thankfully sits down, puts down his coffee and scone, and relaxes.

He rubs the worn watch around his wrist, suddenly a little wistful. He sometimes wonders about Noah. Okay, maybe he's a little in denial. He thinks about Noah. Borderling _a lot. _But Luke's okay. Life has kept him busy and fruitful and always going.

He's over Noah and the pain and the nerve-wrecking heartache.

Kind of.

Okay, not really. There's a lot he wants to say to Noah, a lot of things he wants to clarify, to show. But he ignores all of that.

Luke plops his head back against the bench and watches the cloud roll by. He deeply inhales the cold, urban air. He realizes that these sorts of moments were surprisingly rare back at home. The serene, almost contemplative times that Luke bets Emerson had. Transcendentalism and fun.

Growing up amidst all of the hullabaloo and the melodrama in Oakdale, Luke is shocked he was able to make it to the age of twenty-seven with the tenacity he had. Even in a city as sleepless and as fast as New York, it doesn't even fling half of the crap he experienced at home.

Instead, there are the times he could sit. And rest. And wait. He waits for thoughts to transform into words, then sentences, then large bodies of writing worthy of literary merit.

Luke shakes his head and dryly snorts. Okay, he exaggerates. It's still the best he's ever written in, well, ever. It's like an artistic, inspirational bomb drops on him. He knows it's ridiculously cliché, but it's worked so well for him each and every time, he loves it.

But it sucks that those imaginative atomic bombs don't drop out of the blue all of the time. Instead, Luke tends to think about many things. Sometimes he inadvertently thinks about how Noah should be here, pointing out _that cloud looks like the profile of Hitchcock _or _hey, that looks like a party hat. Remember New Years?_

Which then inevitably leads to thinking about Noah's love of movies, Noah's genuine sincerity and honesty, Noah's dumb, corny jokes that always made him laugh, Noah's incessant habit to wear plaid shirts over t-shirts, Noah's ability to wear a suit really _nicely, _it always makes Luke hot and bothered whenever he thinks about it.

Or Noah, furious to the brink of madness, Or Noah, blank and emotionless, which is never a pleasant place to be, but Luke can never help it. The only good thing that comes out of remembering about Noah is that Luke tended to write some spectacular stories. At the very least, it landed him a few bucks from the New Yorker.

_"I loved the raw emotion in this story,"_ the editor said. _"You don't find honesty like this nowadays."_

Luke is flattered by the compliments and denies that it was ever, ever, _ever_ based on real events.

Some other times, he remembers the first few weeks in a vast, new city. At night, he pretends he doesn't dream about better days, of the occasional mistletoe, sweet whispers, and a pretty boy with blue eyes and a dorky smile. And he pretends that the ache in his heart, the one he feels in the mornings after those non-existent dreams, no matter how painful, is just a result of stress from school. He thinks _Nietzche can do that to you._

But Noah can't.

Luke doesn't dream that much anymore. Or, at least, he doesn't remember. Adulthood does that to you. Adults don't dwell on the what-if's or the if-only's.

"I wonder how he is," Luke asks a small, shrubbish looking tree next to his bench. "Probably has a boyfriend now." His mind brings up a hazy, static-fuzzed picture of Noah's redhead study buddy whom he hasn't thought of in years.

Luke pretends that the tree shakes its branches in some semblance of human notion.

"I can't believe I'm talking to a tree," he mutters, and then munches on his scone.

Luke closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind to no avail. His mind rebels and sends him images of Noah with his silly, sort of shy smile and the earnest love in his eyes that makes Luke's heart clench and look back with regret. Even so, Luke smiles at the memories. Eyes closed, he heaves a sigh worthy of those stunning, breathy heroines from those horrible, bodice-ripper romance novels, even though he's never read one before. (Really.)

Then, he catches a whiff of something unusually familiar. A mix of laundry detergent, the stale scent of black coffee, Old Spice, and something intimately personal that reminds him of Noah.

Luke's eyes fly open in a burst. He scrabbles to straighten himself.

"Shit, Noah?" he mutters under his breath. Luke looks left. Nothing.

He tries his luck and looks right.

Lo and behold, Noah Benjamin Mayer stands looming, two feet away from Luke in glorious reality. Looking older and dressed impeccably in a pea coat, jeans, and a pair of converses, Noah shuts his cell phone and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"I thought it was you. Couldn't exactly tell because you were staring at the clouds." Noah points up to the clear blue above him. Luke stares as his paralyzed mouth gawps. Noah steps in closer. "Hi Luke."

Luke jumps and then scrambles to re-assemble himself from the utter shock of finding his ex-boyfriend and the jilted love of his life standing before him.

"I--guh--what?" Luke's loss for words makes Noah's mouth quirk up. Luke promptly gathers himself. "I mean, hi. Wow. Noah. You look..." Appetizing_?_ Luke has some Very Inappropriate thoughts. He inwardly groans as he realizes that he's going to a special sort of hell reserved for imbeciles like him who still pined after old flames for the past seven years.

"Good," Luke lamely finishes. "You look good."

"You do too."

Luke doesn't want to describe the feeling in his stomach as _fluttery_, but it sure as hell is close to it. Noah shifts on his feet, moving his messenger bag from one shoulder to the other.

"Oh, uhm, do you wanna sit?" Luke scoots over, leaving a large empty space for someone Noah-shaped to fill it in.

Noah gives Luke a polite nod. "Sure, thanks."

"So, what brings you out here to the great city?" Luke cringes at his apparent lack of skill in small talk.

"I was just on my way to help shoot a documentary."

"Oh. That's...nice."

The awkwardness is suffocating and uneasy, filled with small talk and unpleasant re-acquaintance like they were strangers fate threw together just for the sheer thrill of it. In fact, they _are_ strangers. And Luke really hates fate.

Luke is almost tempted to twiddle his thumbs while he tries hard not to distinctly _look_ at Noah and his longer hair, the faintest wrinkle by his mouth, and the ways his eyes were still same shade of vivid, fresh blue.

So instead, he gets up to throw away his half-eaten scone.

Unexpectedly, Noah lightly touches his elbow when he passes. "Hey. I just...I hope this isn't too...weird...but if you're free right now, and since I haven't seen you for a while, you wanna grab some coffee?"

"Weren't you on your way to—you're not going to be late?"

Noah shrugs. "Not really. I just wanted to look at how they were doing with the editing. So…coffee?"

Luke quickly and discreetly trashes his previous and very full cup of coffee along with his scone. He plasters on a bright smile. "Sure. I know a good place. C'mon."

He motions to Noah to follow him, and he retraces his path back to the café he went to earlier.

"So how are you?" Luke asks.

"Ah, great." Noah rubs his gloved hands together to warm them after a breeze flies past them. "So where're you taking us?"

"Small mom and pop café a couple blocks down. Reminds me a little of Java. Let's turn left here."

The walk over is brisk and platonic as it can be. Luke doesn't mention the past or the manner in which they parted ways. He thanks god that Noah doesn't mention it either.

When they arrive, Noah politely opens the door and allows Luke in first. The gesture brings a small smirk to Luke's mouth. And just as he's about to make a slightly flirtatious comment about Noah being such the gentlemen, he remembers the place and most importantly, the time. It was a momentary lapse in memory. He forgot that their relationship wasn't allowed in that zone of comfort.

Luke's smile strains. "Thanks," he murmurs. He then goes to a wooden counter covered in beaded mosaics to order, not waiting for Noah to catch up.

The girl at the register arches a judging eyebrow. Well, crap. It was the same barista from before. And she recognized him.

Luke subtly looks over his shoulder to gauge Noah's hearing range. He notices Noah looking interestedly at a bulletin board on the other side of the earthy-colored café.

"Give me a break. He's my ex I haven't seen in seven years that I just somehow randomly bumped into," he explains to her. Her other eyebrow rises, and she gives him a disbelieving look. "Seriously!"

"If you say so," she shrugs. "What can I get you? The same as before?"

"Yeah and also a small Americano with cinnamon. To go." Lord knows Luke did not want to sit down at a coffee shop with Noah to reminisce about old times. Luke ran his hand through his hair worriedly.

"Coming right up."

Luke taps his fingers against the counter as he waits, inconspicuously watching Noah in his peripheral vision. He can't believe this is happening. How is this happening? It's great for him to see Noah again, but really, did it have to happen _now_? Then again, if it happened anytime between then, now, and after, Luke still would have felt that strange dread currently creeping up his neck.

"Here you go," the barista says. She gives him a deliberate, nearly smug look when she hands him the drinks in disposable cups. Her eyes flicker to Noah's board backside still on the other side of the café. "He's really cute. Are you going to try to get back together with him?"

"No." Luke grits his teeth. "That's _impossible._"

She shrugs again. "Whatever you say."

Luke pays the barista, without tip, and then walks to Noah.

"Noah?"

"Mmm, yeah?" he says distractedly. Luke notices Noah jotting something down in a notepad while looking at flyer pertaining information about an independent film festival and watches him scrunch his brow in a familiar fashion.

"Coffee?"

Noah turns his head. Luke lifts up a cup of aromatic coffee. "You bought me one?"

"Yep. Here."

Noah gives Luke an indiscernible expression when he takes the coffee. His lips quirk up when he catches a lilting waft from his cup. "I smell cinnamon. Thanks."

"Hey, so, uhm, you wanna take a walk? The café's pretty crowded, and the weather's nice…" Luke trails off, feeling stupider by the second because, really, no _really,_ he did not know how to handle this.

"Sure."

And so, they take a walk.

They talk about this and that, until Luke takes them to Prospect Park again. They decide to sit on a bench--which ironically was the same old, weather-stained and weather-beaten bench Luke was on before.

Luke leaves enough space between them for Ethan to fit in. He shoves one hand in his pant pocket, his other hand firmly holding his cup of coffee like a lifeline, and looks out into the vast green meadow beyond the sidewalk in their foreground.

Noah takes off his messenger bag and carefully places it between them. Luke doesn't know if the action was intentional or not, but he tries not to care.

So they continue talking about this and that. Luke mentions Columbia, and then the same, unreadable expression flutters past Noah's face before he nonchalantly tells Luke he already knew. Apparently Lily had told him sometime after Luke left for New York.

Noah quickly changes the subject.

"I, uh, read your recent story in the New Yorker. It was really good."

Luke wants to smack his head against a nearby tree for forgetting that Noah did read magazines. Hell, hearing how Emma still talked to Noah, she probably sent Noah every singly clipping of Luke's (thus far) published works like she sends Luke cookies every week.

"Really? Thanks."

"Mmmhmm." Noah takes a sip of his coffee. "I especially like the part where you mention the farm. Christmas, if I remember correctly."

Luke blinks. The conversation begins to inch closer all-too familiar territory about the unsaid issue of their previously, romantically-inclined relationship. And that was without talking _about it_. Luke tries to think up of different subjects to steer them away.

"Ah, well, it wasn't really anything. Just a short story. David Egger's was a lot better. But I was really confused why they had an author from San Francisco in the New Yorker." He closes his mouth and thinks that he could not sound even geekier--or more brainless, for that matter--than just that.

Hitchcock's theme song rings from Noah's pocket. "Sorry," he mumbles. "Must be work."

Luke nods and mentally berates himself while patiently drinking his coffee.

"Hey. Yeah, no, we're not filming today. We couldn't get the interview remember?" Noah pauses. "Brooklyn. I told you I'd be in Brooklyn. Uh-huh, okay. Tell Jimmy that. He—hey, I'm sort of busy right now. I'll call you back later. Yeah, bye."

Noah stuffs his phone back into his pocket and gives Luke a sheepish expression. "Sorry about that."

"No problem. What was that about?"

"Just some stuff at work."

"And what is it that you do with this stuff at work?"

"I'm the…" Noah leans back into the bench, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "The assistant director. We were supposed to shoot an interview today, but it was cancelled at the last minute."

Luke's eyebrows shoot up, impressed. "Seriously?"

Noah toothily smiles at Luke's response. "Yeah. Once we're done with this movie, I got an offer from Miramax to shoot a small comedy flick."

"Wow. Congrats." Luke couldn't help but to think how did he not know this? Seven long years and even long after the advent of Google, he was daft enough and never curious enough if Noah made a name for himself. Luke always assumed—well, what did he assume?

"That's amazing Noah," he says.

"And you? What's been up with a short-story author?"

"Oh you know." Luke swats his hand in the air. "Writer's blocks. Deadlines."

"Short-story anthology in the works," Noah continues for him. "Awards. Lots of them."

Luke doesn't consider the expression on his face as exaggeratedly surprised, but it's close to it. "Well, how did you—"

"People back at home," Noah says ridiculously casually, as if hearing things about his ex-boyfriend of infinite resentment was a common occurrence. Luke hates that Noah is completely unperturbed. "Actually, a lot of my co-workers are huge fans of your works. I think I heard, Cassie--she's a PA--mention how reading your stories were, and I quote, _never pretentious, always full of human verve. _She'd hyperventilate if she ever met you."

"Did she actually say 'verve'?"

Noah laughs. "Yes she did. I mentioned that I knew you, and then she nearly attacked me, bribed me with her DVD collection to get your contact information." Luke's face changes from amused to somewhat disturbed. "What, you never knew you had fans this crazy?"

"I never knew I had fans period." Luke smiles, relaxing the death grip he has on his coffee cup and begins to enjoy himself.

They ease into a comfortable silence, loosening up in each other's presence like they were old friends, minus the long, complex history they had together.

Their dynamics were different, of course because, come on, hello, seven years, but Luke's anxiety over the whole situation dissipates. The likelihood of surviving the encounter relatively unscathed rockets into the territory of _one day, you'll look back at this and laugh!_ It reassured him that he could do this.

"You know," Noah suddenly starts, "I always thought you would go to go into journalism."

"Because of my propensity for activism? No. I was getting my masters in journalism, but I stopped half way."

"Half way?"

"I don't know. I just, stopped. After I got a couple of stories into circulation to earn some money, I dropped out of the program and started writing full time. Although…it'd be nice to get back into journalism. You know, be a writer for hire, inform the people one article at a time. Carrying the banner." Luke sardonically throws a fist in the air.

"Did you just make a Newsies reference?"

"No," Luke innocently denies.

"You did!"

"Well, maybe." Noah's face winces. "It wasn't that bad of a movie. At least, I thought it wasn't."

"It _was_," Noah jokingly argues. "Anyway, do you live around here? In Brooklyn?"

Luke takes a sip of coffee as he nods. "Yep, Fifth Avenue." He points a thumb behind his bench, in the general direction of his loft. "What about you?"

"Oh, I have a place up in Chelsea."

"You're kinda far from home. Chelsea? As in—"

"Modern artists galore. My neighbor is currently working on a piece made from human hair." Luke cracks a grin. "Anyway, how do you like it here?"

"I love it here. I love the...stuff." Luke gestures at the air around him, the bare trees, the concrete sidewalk, the field in front of them.

"Stuff?" Noah raises a quizzical eyebrow. His eyes seem to look straight through Luke and the supposedly content illusion he raised in defense. He knows Luke too well.

And it makes Luke want to confess everything, like Noah was the same Noah he remembers, not the one next to him, wearing slim-cut jeans and a trendy coat, and that it was like they were in Java again, and everything was _all right_ once Noah told him to stop worrying so much.

That thought brings his defenses down. Luke almost groans. His shoulders slump. "I hate it here. Well, not _here_ here, but New York in general. Commuting sucks. My publisher is going to kill me the next time I tell her I can't make deadline, and I'm so tired all the time. The people are fucking rude, and do you know how _expensive_ it is here?"

"Yeah, I do Luke."

"What I mean is…adulthood isn't what it's all cracked up to be. God knows I can't keep a job."

Noah smiles, a bit affectionate. "Oh the horror of being a published author." Luke makes a sound similar to an amused snort.

"And this is really pathetic, so don't tell anybody, but I get lonely," Luke covertly says like it was a piece of steamy gossip.

Noah chuckles. "Not pathetic at all."

"At least Oakdale had family and friends. And you," he adds as an afterthought without much attention.

Noah's brow imperceptibly twitches. Luke has never hated the phrase "foot in mouth" more than at that very moment.

"It's just that...I haven't seen you in such a long time, I've kinda lost touch with you and everyone..." Luke rambles in a vain attempt to recoup.

"Yeah," and that's all Noah says on the matter. Luke sort of wishes Noah would place a reassuring hand on his arm, and say that everything's okay. Instead, he uneasily twirls his coffee in his hands as the steam floats up in a lazy pattern.

Luke decides it's a very good time to change subjects in order to save at least _some_ dignity. "So how long have you been living in New York?"

Noah tilts his head up, contemplating for a moment.

"Five years? I graduated film school last year."

"Five years? Film school?" Luke asks, a suspicious tone crawling into his voice.

"Yeah. I went to..uh..." Noah's voice shrinks, realizing the implications behind the information he just divulged. "NYU. Got my masters."

Luke feels the strongest stab of jealousy and tastes the bitter tang of anger in his mouth.

"Oh, really?"

Luke tries to keep the mockery out of his voice, but he's irritated. He's angry that Noah left Oakdale, angry that Noah never told him that for the past five freaking years, he was in New York. He's angry that Noah never contacted him, never bothered to look him up, because it gave Luke a very clear view of exactly who and what he meant to Noah.

And somewhere, deep down in the bottomless pit known as Luke Snyder's soul, he couldn't accept it.

Noah is perceptive and picks up on the tension. "Yeah Luke," he says defensively.

The strain in Noah's voice forces Luke to reel himself back. Out of the several things he's learned in the past seven years, self-restraint was the best. He mentally shakes himself once he remembers that they are very much separated.

"I didn't know."

"No, I suppose you didn't," Noah responds neutrally. "We really didn't keep in touch so…" He thumbs the edge of his coffee cup in nervous circles.

Luke bites his tongue and with an absurd thought, is tempted to just get the whole thing over with by spilling coffee and excusing himself. Or pointing to the sky, waiting for Noah to look upwards, and running while his attention is grabbed. Or something.

"So, uhm," Noah starts, obviously searching for something to say in order to fill the silence. "I was wondering, the crew probably wants to unwind later. Do you know any good places nearby?"

"Well, there are some good restaurants, cafes—"

Noah's face contorts, a little embarrassed. "When I said unwind, I actually was thinking more like—"

"Bars?" Luke shakes his head. "No, not really. I don't drink."

It slips off his tongue like it was the most uneventful thing to have happened to him. Noah unexpectedly smiles at him, unusually bashful and yet, _proud_. Of him? For the whole 'I don't drink' statement? Luke's mind isn't able to wrap around what it all meant. Anyway, Luke finds his mind to be overrated.

He brightly beams at Noah. Then he gets the satisfaction of witnessing Noah's smile bloom.

"Huh. Really." Noah's voice imitates Luke's nonchalance, distinguishing that tender curve of his mouth. It makes Luke's heart do Olympiad worthy flips and fill with giddiness.

"Really. Alcohol tends to make me do stupid things," Luke glibly says, hiding his simmering excitement.

Noah chuckles. "That's good."

Luke smirks. "That alcohol makes me do stupid things?"

"No!" Noah laughs, his eyes creasing like the way Luke remembers it. "I mean—"

"I know what you mean. I was messing with you."

They mutually smile at each other and then simultaneously shift their eyes elsewhere. Luke notices a distinctly interesting crack in a tree, and Noah's eyes avert down, checking out his messenger bag.

Noah clears his throat while Luke takes another gulp of his frothy drink. "So...are you seeing anyone?"

Luke's coffee nearly goes down the wrong pipe. He hacks up his coffee and then smoothly clears his throat because his feathers were not ruffled at all. He was just surprised, perhaps. But maybe he was actually more confused by the straightforwardness of the question. Yeah, that was it.

"Nope," he says slowly. "Haven't since..." Luke doesn't say who and lets his sentence linger. He swallows thickly.

Noah scarcely leans in closer. His messenger bag crunches up closer to the side of Luke's hip and thigh.

The smell of cinnamon and spicy cologne gently rubs past Luke's nostrils like a soft wind. It causes a forgotten and deeply sentimental feeling to stir in him.

The likelihood of surviving plummets dramatically. It sucks that when he fell for those guys he couldn't have, he fell hard. Committed even after the relationship died.

"You?" Luke lamely asks. He has no idea why he asked. He doesn't want to know.

"Ah..uhm...no. A total bachelor at the moment." Luke doesn't admit to anyone that his heart leapt fifty feet in to the air. He drowns his hope in the blunt reminder, yep, single but oh so unavailable. Was there some sort of cosmic rule against dating Noah? Or maybe the cosmos simply hated Luke, shoving Noah in close proximity while flaunting the fact that there was no chance, even if hell froze over, were they ever going—Luke forcibly tells his mind to shut up.

"Oh."

That's all Luke can really say.

They fall into a silence with a giant, neon-pink elephant in the vicinity, ostentatiously hiding behind a trash can. Luke unconsciously tugs at his watch.

Noah notices it and stares.

"You still wear it."

"Oh, this. I haven't been able to find a new one, and this one's survived for a long time. Kept me on time." He doesn't tell Noah that he's had it fixed five times already and that he cherishes it like he cherishes his own goddamn _mother_.

"I can't believe you still wear it," Noah tactlessly says.

"It's a good watch."

"No, what I meant was—I just, I always thought you'd, I dunno, throw it away," Noah says with an edge to his voice.

"Because you gave it to me?" Luke asks, becoming apprehensive and aggravated.

It was illogical to get so wound up, but the more Luke read into Noah's words, the more it _hurt_. What did he take Luke as? Some vengeful harpy who made voodoo dolls of his exes with smashed watches?

"Because of what it—"Noah lets out a frustrated sigh.

"What?" Luke eggs on. He knows it's stupid to provoke Noah, but he was never one to think before he spoke.

"Because of what it meant, okay?" Noah says, his tone tinged with bitterness and reluctance. "What it meant between us and all that crap that happened after--never mind Luke, I have to—"

"Why did you invite me out Noah?"

Noah stiffens and sucks in air slowly as if readying himself for something traumatizing.

Seconds tick by before he speaks.

"Because I want closure."

Luke purses his lips together in a straight line as an odd frustration starts to boil up, feeling offended and indignant and for some weird reason, incredibly _mad._

_He_ wanted closure? Luke practically scoffs.

Add that with the fact that Luke was never able to keep his huge trap shut, that's when everything blows up.

"Why?" Luke sharply asks. "Big filmmaker out in the big apple. Can't do better than that. It looks like you moved on pretty well."

"So did you. Better yet, you ran away," Noah accuses, suddenly on the defense. "What did you expect me to do? Wait for you forever?"

"Yeah, I did Noah. Or at least for you to contact me the _five _years you were here."

"Judging from those nasty letters you sent me, you were really clear about how _you_ were dumping _my_ sorry ass, and that you wanted nothing to do with me."

"I wrote those when I was drunk--"

"_God Luke_. Drunk? You said you've been sober. I thought you _knew_ better."

"Well, Noah, let me let you in on something. You don't know me. It's been seven years since then, and you really think you know me?"

"Those seven years...Luke, you ran away,and I didn't even know until about a week later! And you threw everything we had into the dumpster when I found you making out with that guy, and you saw me, and you knew I was watching, and you didn't stop. You made it very clear that I _meant nothing to you._"

"You're still hung up about that? I can't--" Luke lowers his voice when he notices a woman on the grass harshly glaring at him. "I told you so many times that I'm sorry. Why can't you believe that?"

"I almost did until you ran off. I was _so close_ to...God. You know what? Forget it."

"Forget it? _Forget it?_ Before you decide to accuse me again, do you even remotely remember what you said to me the last time we met? You didn't want to see me again."

"Luke--"

"It was pretty obvious that _you_ wanted _me_ completely out of your life."

"Luke stop--"

"So I did you the courtesy and moved out of your life. Seriously, what even gives you the right--"

"You're such a child!" Noah exclaims, exasperated. "Do you know the reason why we broke up?"

"Why Noah? Please, do tell me why."

"So I could give you the chance to grow up. You always did this. You always acted immature, spoiled, and selfish."

"No, _you_ always did this. You pushed me away to the brink, and you never let me in. In fact, you were the one always running away. Running away from what you felt, from the truth of our relationship, and from us."

"_No. _I wasn't. We've been over this already. Funny enough Luke, it was you who finally ran away from us."

Luke curls his hands into rigid fists. He swallows thickly and clenches his jaw.

Before Luke can say anything in return, Noah sighs and then rubs his face. "Jesus Luke. Look at us right now. It shouldn't have been like this."

Luke feels his heart rip, and all he sees is a misshaped shadow of once was and his furious anger building up.

"Then, why didn't you fight for us?" Luke abruptly demands, his voice on the verge of dying and fraught with anger.

Noah keeps his mouth clamped shut, but visibly tenses.

"I fought for you. I fought for us, even when everything was just, horrible, you know? And it was hard, and I got so tired. And I couldn't do it _anymore_." Luke's voice fractures, and tears prickle his eyes. "When I didn't have the strength to keep fighting, why didn't you?"

"_I did Luke!_" Noah suddenly explodes out yelling. "God knows I did, and _it was never enough for you_!"

Luke is stunned into silence, taken aback by Noah's outburst.

"How could you say that Noah? It always was," Luke finally says, emphatic and hushed.

"But Luke, It _wasn't_. After the election, it was like you could never forgive me, so no matter what I did, I couldn't do anything right."

"Noah—"

"And then," Noah faintly chokes up for a split second. "_You gave up_ Luke."

"What do you mean?"

"You left. You just--" Noah's face twists into a broken grimace. "--left without saying good-bye."

Luke witnesses Noah starting to lose steam, and the anger from his earlier outburst is replaced with resigned disappointment.

"Just left," Noah repeats again, quiet and worn out.

He turns his head away from Luke, leans forward, and limply rests his arms on his knees. To Luke, he looked like a bent and broken rag doll, played with, thrown away, kicked to the curb too many times.

Luke says nothing, unable to form coherent sentences as a guilty feeling, overpowering and excruciating, plagues him.

"I—I didn't know."

Noah dryly laughs, and the lack of mirth tears right through Luke.

"Didn't know? What _did_ we know?" Noah turns to him, his eyes reflective and shimmering like ripples in a lake. "Luke, we were two idiots in love, and it left us both messed up. You meant the world to me, but…that wasn't enough."

Luke averts his eyes because he couldn't look anymore. He couldn't look at all that heartbreak he caused without having his vision burning. He squeezes his eyes closed, finally understanding just how much damage he inflicted on the victim he left behind.

"You probably don't believe me," Luke begins, "but you meant everything to me also."

"After everything, how is that even true?" Noah asks, tired and drained and unbelieving.

"Because I..." Luke rubs his eyes.

Noah waits. Luke glances at him. He appears older than Luke thought or remembers, with the bags under his eyes, a faintly bruised, bluish color, and the indented lines running next to the edges of his lips.

Luke can feel his heart beat so fast. It hurtslike hell.

"I miss you. I miss you so fucking much," Luke rapidly confesses. "When I had just moved to New York, I used to sit by the phone and wait for a call." He puts on a self-deprecating grin. "Hoping it was you."

Noah doesn't reply but instead stares precisely into his coffee.

"I just waited for anything from you, and I always asked about you whenever anyone from Oakdale called or visited. Then one day, Mom came over, and she asked me 'Why don't you call up Noah?', and God, Noah, I wanted to. So much."

Luke clearly remembers his mother smoothing out his hair, telling him, "_There are other boys out there. You'll find someone else."_

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because it hurt. Because I was scared." Luke blinks away the tears. "I--." He inhales. "I didn't want to face you hating me. I remember your face. Your expression. You weren't even angry, just...nothing. It was...I did something stupid."

Noah lifts his head up and watches Luke warily.

Luke sighs. "I did a lot of stupid things back then. I came here to re-invent myself. Make myself someone better and to get away from all my past failures, because I thought maybe here, the election, the drinking, Brian, all my mistakes, me hurting the people I care about, it wouldn't get to me. You wouldn't get to me."

It finally dawns upon Luke.

Seven years in the city, and Luke thinks he's the adult he always wanted to be. Independent and satisfied.

But at the core of it, Noah was right. He was still a child, alone and scared of repeats. Luke can't open himself up to anyone he knows. Every time he tries—and god knows he's tried—to start dating again, he shies away whenever the relationship begins to get intimate. It was that possibility of being vulnerable all over again to a person who was never Noah, because he had a damned phobia of romantic entanglements.

It wasn't even that.

What it was, summing it all up: he was a coward.

So then he ends up living a lonely existence, counting down the days until something happens. Until his next paper, his degree and graduation, his first job, his next published work, his next paycheck, the next day, the next moment he gets to sit on a park bench and stare at the clouds and hope and wonder what it would've been like if Noah could just see him now.

And waiting. God, what has he been waiting for all this time?

_Why_ has he been waiting?

Then Noah literally waltzes back into his life, and his past comes rushing back with full force. The familiarity of Noah, being tangible and _here_, Luke gets to face up to the certainty of his situation. Of Noah and his non-existent presence. Of himself. Of everything.

Because his past was dictating his present.

Noah, not this Noah, but the Noah from the times of younger, dramatic years bound him to a standstill. He had been deluding himself this whole time, thinking he had been set free from home.

The truth was, Noah still got to him. And Luke couldn't get past that.

"But you're right," Luke continues, "I was such a brat. Maybe I still am because I've been, just, _waiting_. Selfishly waiting for you to effortlessly come back into my life, and daydreaming about things that aren't even real anymore when I should have just gone out on a limb and done it myself."

"Done what?"

"I didn't want our relationship to end because you were the best thing to happen to me. And that we could've worked it out. That everything you did was more than enough, and that I was a complete and total idiot. Now, I know that you thought we were too messed up to do anything, but Noah, I should've fucking begged you on my knees for another chance so that we could've fixed _us _at least. I shouldn't have given up. I shouldn't have run away."

He understands. He finally does.

"But I ruined that chance, and I hurt you _so_ much, and there is no _us_ now. I know I ruined it, and I can't do anything to change it."

Luke knows that now. It's time he let go. The opportunity is gone, and all that's left is space to finally move on.

Luke sets the cup down and looks at Noah. He understands now.

He takes a deep breath.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Noah says nothing for a long while. Luke exhales and moves to watch the sidewalk in front of them.

"Same here," Noah softly says.

Luke turns to Noah who steadfastly gazes at him. "Noah?"

"I'm sorry also. It was my fault. This wouldn't have happened if I just wasn't...so...What I mean is that you were always the persistent one. I guess, I always expected you to. I mean, I always expected you to _be there_. I was just sick and tired of you hurting me, and so, I left you. I made us have that break. Then all that crap happened, and you left, and I resented you a lot after that. But I guess...I...suck at this." Noah heaves his last words and slouches over.

Luke gets it, cracks a smile, and nudges Noah's shoulder with his own. "I think we both do."

Noah leans back, and his eyes crinkle when he smiles. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Luke gently repeats. "Why did we have the break for anyway?"

"God knows." Noah lets out a rough laugh. "I don't remember."

They lapse into silence. Luke isn't sure if it's comfortable or not, but at least it's better than before. Noah drums on his coffee cup with his index fingers while Luke drinks his.

"You know," Noah starts. "Maybe, we weren't meant for each other after all."

"Maybe."

"But it doesn't mean that our time together was the best time of my life. It's just that..."

"We were two idiots in love and didn't know better?"

"I'm sorry I said some harsh things--"

Luke waves Noah off with his hand. "Nah. It's true anyway, isn't it? We needed some time apart so we could...I dunno, grow up first." Luke shakes his head and chuckles. "God Noah. We were so young."

"You make us sound so old," Noah jokes.

"Well, you have to admit, we went through a lot of crazy stuff together. Comparing my life back then to now, I really can't believe it."

Noah quietly agrees. "Yeah."

"But look at us now. Successful, independent adults."

Luke doesn't mention lonely, because in the end, after he finishes off his coffee and promises to keep in touch with Noah, they're going to part ways, and Luke's going to find himself a life where he can stop wasting his time being scared of people.

But there's still a chance for friendship.

"I really meant it when I said I miss you. It's been a long time," Luke says.

Noah nods with a serious, distant expression.

"So," Luke says lightly, "I wanna hear every horror story about every celebrity you've worked with."

Noah chuckles and takes a sip of his cold coffee. His nose is turning pinkish from the cold, and he sniffles. He sort of smiles at Luke. It's a small, awkward movement of the lips. He then quickly turns his attention back to his coffee cup and fiddles with its cover.

"It has been a long time."

Luke sighs. "Did you get your closure?"

"I did. It helped clear up a lot of things. Thanks."

Luke stretches out his arms, suddenly easy and relaxed. It feels like a fog was lifted from his body. He supposes, this is what people referred to as a mutual reconciliation.

It was the rushing relief and peace after the soap opera that followed him to New York finally resolved itself. But as he basks in comfortable reprieve due to their understanding that ultimately, he's done, they're done, and it's all right, a minute, dull, and nostalgic pain in his chest reminds Luke of what he lost.

He pushes it aside because what he lost, it was seven years ago. Let's not talk anymore about it. It was time for Luke to get on with his life, and that was a good thing.

"If you talked to me when I was nineteen, telling me everything that was going to happen, I wouldn't have believed you. I wouldn't have believed we would've ended up here," Noah says.

Luke responds with an 'mmm', and hides his ebbing disappointment behind a casual nod.

"Because I loved you so much." Noah says. He takes a sip of coffee and slowly exhales. "And now, I kinda.."

He trails off with a shrug. Luke's heart starts to thump a little louder and the pain becomes a little sharper. Maybe it's because of the evocative feeling Noah gives him. Or maybe because he's still in love with how their relationship used to be. Luke couldn't quite figure it out.

But he calms himself down. With a single, nonchalant shrug, Noah had no inclination, whatsoever, to re-experience all the melodrama and hurt and the overall mess aptly titled their relationship.

He's almost okay with that.

But the way Noah trailed off, lost with words, saying that _now_ and not being able to help it because by nature, he was just so damn nosy, Luke really needs some clarification.

"What are you talking about?" Luke asks curiously. He lifts his cold coffee for a drink.

Noah leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Now, I...What I mean is that, even though I said we weren't meant for each other...I don't think it's the same as saying we _aren't_ meant for each other." He looks at Luke meaningfully. "Right now."

Luke doesn't register what Noah means until a tick after. Luke chokes on his coffee and hacks it all out. He spits it out to the concrete sidewalk. Surprised, Noah forcefully pats Luke's back.

"Luke! Oh God, are you okay?"

"You--what?" Luke coughs between each syllable.

"What?"

Suddenly, Luke grabs the collar of Noah's perfectly dry-cleaned pea coat. He jerks Noah's face close to his.

"Are you dense?"

"What?" Noah's mouth gapes open, perplexed.

"Are you _dense_?"

"I don't--"

"We just had an epically, emotionally charged conversation as two previously involved partners with a _huge _amount of history to muck through in order to just get--"

"Luke--"

" --_closure_, so that we could part ways, shaking hands and maybe getting coffee every once in a while, and I could finally get a new boyfriend--"

"Boyfriend? Luke--"

"--and then you decide to imply that you're still in love with me--"

"Not exactly--"

" --and that _really _sucks for me because, now, you've completely ruined my plan to move on past you because you know why?! Because I've been in lo--"

Luke snaps his mouth shut. Oh bad move Snyder. _Bad. Move_. A look of shocked recognition creeps into Noah's face. He knows. Oh God, _he knows._

"I see." Noah responds, his voice a little shaky.

Luke looks down at the old loafers on his feet, embarrassed, and awkwardly chuckles. "I didn't mean...that--"

"What you said? Or what you meant by them?" Noah interrupts.

Luke freezes up, a familiar sense of dread climbing up his spine, into his chest, and up his throat. He can't formulate the words, and nothing comes out from his mouth. Luke tries again and fails miserably.

Meanwhile, Noah inhales like he's preparing himself for war.

"Because I..." Noah starts fumbling with his hands. Luke sees a tinge of red unfurling behind Noah's ears. "There was a reason why I said just because we weren't meant for each other, doesn't we mean aren't...I mean--I haven't...._exactly_....gotten over you either."

Luke pointedly stares at Noah.

Unnerved, Noah starts to ramble. "Well, we didn't know better back then because we were young and stupid—I mean, I was stupid--and _this _just shows that maybe after every argument we have, it won't end up with me deciding to take a break because I was a wuss, and I can usually talk more eloquently than this, and you going off, getting really dumb and drunk and making out with that _moron_ from your English class and then me socking you and then breaking up with you, you running away, and then us taking another seven years to even coincidentally meet each other in another state to finally get all that behind us, and even _then_ we're not the same people--"

"You remember Mitch was in my English class?" Luke interrupts.

"Was that his name? Of course I remember him. I wanted to punch his face to a pulp." Noah visibly gathers himself and looks at Luke straight in the eye. "What I mean to say is that, Luke, we're not the same people we were. After seeing you again, I can't...I...I don't..."

Noah's jaw tenses, and he pauses for moment.

"It's been a long time. I'd like to get to know you again."

It takes a moment for Luke to process Noah's words, him sitting on a bench, in the middle of Prospect Park, in Brooklyn, in New York with _Noah_ after seven years of non-communication, experiencing a whirlwind of various emotions he hadn't felt so strongly in years, and it's then and there that Luke _hesitates_.

He wonders, just as they made their peace with each other, could they do it again? Luke wasn't young and stupid anymore, he knew that. He didn't know that if he dived into this, foolishly head first, if all the subsequent heartbreak would be worth it.

Yet something is different this time. Luke watches Noah, _this _Noah, twenty-seven years old, on the verge of starting his career as a movie director, a little wiser, older, and still bad with words.

While Luke was gone, chasing his dreams, Noah did too.

And he grew up. Luke supposes they both did.

But now, he was exhausted of experiencing life alone.

Noah, with his sensible tendencies, love for old movies, fulfilling lifelong dreams, shuffling sentences, makes Luke actually think, this time, maybe, perhaps, it could work.

It was possible.

And that thought, in and of itself, gives Luke the greatest amount of hope he's ever felt.

So Luke does what he does best and takes the chance, never mind the old heartache, the long history, the ridiculous melodrama their relationship always seemed to entail.

"I'd like that also."

Noah's mouth curves skyward. It's the first time Noah grins, the one Luke clearly remembers, big and goofy, and Luke can't help but to think, _this is it. _

Luke, with his heart swelling and his head looping in circles of possibilities and love, knows he's actually, truly, ready for a fresh start.

"Noah, would you like to get some coffee?" Noah questioningly nods his head at Luke's cup in his hands. "I _mean_, some more coffee?"

"That'd be great."

Noah finishes his coffee with a large gulp and proudly shows his empty cup to Luke. Luke grins and hands him his own cup. Noah raises an eyebrow.

"You were barista once. Baristas love coffee."

Noah scoffs but takes the cup with an amused look and starts drinking it. "God, it's completely cold!"

"Yep." Luke gives him a cheeky smile.

Noah says something under his breath along the lines of 'mischievous' and 'punk'. In retaliation, Luke bumps his shoulder playfully

Once Noah's finished, he gets up to throw away their cups, and Luke loves that Noah's still the well-mannered gentleman. He watches Noah's back while he jogs to the trash can farther down the sidewalk's opposite side.

At that second, Luke is overwhelmed with anticipation, a feeling he hasn't felt in such a long time and thinking that finally, _finally_.

And when Noah is back, his hair tousled from the wind, his eyes glittering, and his lips curled up in that open, dorky, _gorgeous_ smile, Luke knows that Noah is thinking the exact same thing.

"So...we're good?" Noah asks.

"Yeah. We're good."

Noah picks up his messenger bag and then offers his hand, open and inviting.

And Luke takes it, tugging himself up. They link their fingers together, and Luke feels like he's soaring, and he's never, ever, _ever_ coming back down.

So when Luke is twenty-seven and however many months old, the sky is rich and blue. After years of living there, New York has never looked better, and Luke's eyes are watering. Noah notices, and Luke mutters something about allergies. He rubs his nose with the back of his hand and blinks, droplets spilling from his eyelashes.

Noah's smile widens, because, really, Luke should never underestimate Noah Mayer and his intelligence.

Noah wipes away the tears welling in Luke's eyes with his thumb and lovingly calls him out on it.

"Yeah right Luke, _allergies_. In the middle of winter."

Luke doesn't know whether to laugh or continue crying.

Instead, Noah curls his hand tighter around Luke's, pulls him close enough that their breaths mingle in clouds of warmth and their noses touch.

And he laughs for the both of them.

* * *

_yay!_


End file.
